


Troubled Souls

by heyystiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark Stiles, F/M, Gen, Hurt Scott, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood and Gore, Protective!Derek, Semi graphic violence, Stiles is definitely the killer, Stiles is mentally unstable, Werewolves, major Scott whump, semi canon compliant, takes place during season 3 after the episode illuminated, the prison may or may not be fictional, worried!scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyystiles/pseuds/heyystiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"S- St-," Scott stammered, unable to speak.<br/>"Out with it, Scott." Derek prodded, face mildly sympathetic.<br/>"T- They've got Stiles."</p>
<p>---An AU with canon elements, in which Stiles is an utterly confused and terrified, severely homicidal, sleepwalking, maximum security inmate at the California State Penitentiary.---</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troubled Souls

"Mr. McCall, I'm sorry," the deputy sighed, scratching the back of his neck frustratedly. The warrant for the other teen's arrest sat on the edge of his desk, staring him down accusingly.

"You can't arrest Stiles!" Scott pleaded, searching his mind for more evidence to prove his best friend's innocence. Something just didn't add up. Scott's brow furrowed in thought and the deputy exhaled, clearly not wanting to argue any longer with the distraught son of his new boss.

"Scott, listen to me, please. There's nothing I can do. I disobey your old man's orders, I lose my job. Plain and simple. As much as I don't want to do this, it's out of my hands."

"But sir, you _know_ Stiles wouldn't do anything like this... The poor guy wouldn't even hurt a fly." Scott's voice dropped at the last word. The deputy shook his head, not budging. Having exhausted all his resources, the teen turned abruptly and left the building, head hung in defeat.

Angrily kicking a pebble as he ambled over to his dirt bike, the distant sound of distressed pleading suddenly filled his ears. Glancing up, alpha eyes involuntarily showing, Scott caught a glimpse of brown hair, long limbs, and an ever familiar plaid shirt.

"Stiles!" The Sheriff's voice also filled Scott's ears, his enhanced hearing making the pain even more evident in the older man's voice. A confused and drowsy reply followed, and Scott sprinted over to the group of three or so police officers as they shoved past, carrying a drugged Stiles.

Blinking sleepily, Stiles' attention was drawn to the two new editions to his captive entourage. "D- Dad, what's ha- happening t-," he slurred, unable to finish his sentence as the door separating Agent McCall from the others opened and closed in a matter of seconds, shutting him out from his father and his best friend.

Confused and even angrier than before, Scott felt his brow twitch.

"Woah, woah, woah, hey- Scott, take it easy buddy," Mr. Stilinski ushered the werewolf to the steps of the Sheriff's department, eyes drifting absentmindedly back to the door. Scott's breathing became shallow, and he glanced up at the Sheriff, eyes shining red, fangs beginning to protrude from his gums. "Scott, listen to me. We'll figure this out. We both know S- Stiles is innocent," Mr. Stilinski stuttered, noticing Scott's werewolf claws had made a guest appearance as well. Just as the Sheriff believed the teen was about to lose it, Scott bolted. He made a beeline for the woods and was gone within seconds. The Sheriff sighed, and sat back down, burying his head in his hands.

Scott's mind was a blur. His best friend, _a mass murderer?_ No. He knew they were wrong and he would find another way to prove it, to show his dad he was wrong. But deep in the pit of Scott's stomach, something resided. It had slowly begun to rise up Scott's throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth: doubt.

Running mindlessly through the trees and over fallen branches, Scott stopped suddenly, colliding with a body much larger than his own. The impact sent him and the other flying. Making rough contact with a tree nearby, Scott heard a few of his bones snap, and a pained cry escaped his lips. Blinking away the blurriness, Scott tried to sit up, his human features returning. The stranger came into focus, offering an outstretched hand, "Derek?" Scott asked, still quite disoriented.

"No, it's Santa Claus." Derek deadpanned, hoisting Scott to his feet. Scott blinked again, his back still aching horribly. He felt like he had suddenly aged 70 years. Even the task of holding up his own body weight was making him wheeze. Derek's voice broke the pained haze surrounding his thoughts. "Look at me _Usain Bolt_ , where the hell are you headed, and why do you look so upset?

"S- St-," Scott stammered, unable to speak.

"Out with it, Scott." Derek prodded, face mildly sympathetic.

"T- They've got Stiles."

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think :) Thanks


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